Mad About Plaid
by amy.werner.794
Summary: After Lee is compelled to wear an outfit that offends his sartorial sensibilities, can Amanda make him forget about his fashion nightmare?


As the sun was setting on an unseasonably cold and blustery April day, Lee pulled the Corvette into a parking spot two car lengths away from the entrance to his apartment building. He slowly exited the car, looked around furtively, and fervently hoped that he could get to his apartment without being seen by any of his neighbors.

He was sleep deprived, and hadn't been able to shower in the past two days. He was most irritated by being forced to remain clothed in the outfit that Billy had insisted he don during this solo assignment. Looking down at the offending garments, he grimaced as he reflected upon how much he suspected that Billy had enjoyed foisting these clothes off on him. His section chief had treaded lightly, knowing that his best agent was already out of sorts since Amanda wouldn't be able to accompany him on this assignment.

He reached his apartment, unseen by anyone other than the doorman, who'd had the good sense to greet him and then quickly avert his eyes. The moment that he entered his apartment, he was assaulted by the stench coming from the Chinese takeout meal which he had inadvertently left laying unfinished on his coffee table. He shut the door behind himself and slumped against it. _Can this day get any worse?_

It could, and he was convinced that it had when he was startled by someone ringing his doorbell. He was planning to ignore the unwelcome visitor until he heard a small crash, and then the words "Oh my gosh" spoken by his secret wife. Quickly opening the door, he found her picking up groceries that had escaped from a paper bag that had given out under the weight of its contents.

"What's all this," he asked as he knelt to assist her.

"A couple of days worth of groceries, I didn't want you to come home to an empty kitchen."

He was warmed by her thoughtfulness, as she finished retrieving the last few items without actually looking at him. He stood up and offered her his hand to assist her in rising. She reached for his hand, looked up, and blurted out the first thought that came to her mind.

"What are you wearing?" She immediately noticed the grimace that had sprung to his face, and she tried to suppress the laugh that was gurgling up inside her.

"Don't laugh," he implored, as she continued to struggle to keep a straight face. "There's nothing funny about this outfit."

She couldn't take her eyes off of him. He was wearing an awful plaid jacket, with a hat hanging out of one pocket, and a pair of worn and extremely baggy jeans.

"Say something, I know you want to, let's get it over with," he stated irritably, leading the way to the kitchen.

"You look like Floyd R. Turbo."

"Who," he questioned, while helping her to deposit the groceries onto his kitchen counter.

"You know the character that Johnny Carson does in skits on "The Tonight Show". He always wears a plaid jacket. By the way, why are you dressed like that? You hate plaid."

"I don't just hate it, I'm allergic to it," he groused, running a hand through his already tousled hair.

"You can't be allergic to plaid."

"I am. I've got a rash on the back of my neck." He ripped off the offending jacket and hurled it onto a nearby chair.

"It's not the plaid; it must be the fabric that's irritating you."

She abandoned the groceries and walked over to look at his neck. She pulled back his shirt collar, examined the angry red patch that he'd obviously been scratching, and then planted a soft kiss by his left ear.

"You'll be just fine. A long hot shower will make you feel better."

"Are you sure," he questioned dubiously.

"I'm quite sure, Sweetheart. Go jump in the shower, I'll put the perishables away, and then I'll join you there." The expression on his face brightened immediately. She watched as he quickly turned to head for his bedroom, and she shook her head as her eyes studied his retreating form.

"Lee, do me a favor."

"What," he asked, turning around to face her.

"Lose those baggy jeans, they hide your ass-ets," she urged as a slight blush crept over her cheeks.

"Will do," he replied with his best dimpled grin. His awful day was over, and the evening ahead held lots of promise.

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Author's note: I'd like to offer a shout-out to my friends Lanie and Janet. Thanks to Lanie for her encouragement and stellar beta work. My thanks go out to Janet for posting a photo that gave me the push I needed to take this story from a nugget to a completed ficlet.


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